


Grey and Yellow

by voicelessVagabond



Category: Red vs. Blue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-09 22:03:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1999551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voicelessVagabond/pseuds/voicelessVagabond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the tumblr prompt: 'I wonder how many freelancers thought of other freelancers while they died'</p>
<p>All he can see is white. He doesn't know why grey and yellow dances around him, but he knows it doesn't matter. All he knows is white.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grey and Yellow

**Author's Note:**

> This was edited by my lovely friend Felix. I honestly don't think it would have been half as good without them so thanks <3

Cold. Very, very cold. It was cold, that much he knew for sure. He was in pain, he was pretty sure, yet where it was stemming from he couldn’t tell at all. He couldn’t move a muscle, and it felt like the gravity around him had suddenly increased tenfold, resulting in even lifting his pointer finger becoming an impossible feat. Whether that was due to the overwhelming pain, or due to what seemed to be a rather impressive crater he was stuck in, he couldn’t tell. He couldn’t remember much of anything now. It was as if his mind was a blank slate, as plain as the day he had been born on. When had he been born, again? But he was cold and the numb feeling of his freezing body only seemed to get worse with every passing second. 

**-Critical Damage-**

It hurt to open his eyes. Everything was too bright. Brightness was a sign of heaven, he knew. When good people were dying they saw the impossibly bright lights that signaled their departure to the land of clouds and pleasantries. He wasn’t going there, he reminded himself. He didn’t deserve to. 

**-Activating Healing Unit-**

All he could see was white. The world had lost all of its color. There was an intense burning feeling in the back of his head, like there was somehow a match beneath it all of a sudden and it was scorching its way through his skin and into his very brain; something telling him that he didn’t like white, that he wanted to see something else. He didn’t know why he felt that way. Wasn’t white the only color there was? It was certainly all he could see, and he trusted his own eyes more than the sensation streaming from the back of his mind. All that existed was white. 

White. White and- _grey and yellow standing above him. Grey and yellow holding out a hand to that he knew was there to help him, to bring him back somewhere. Grey and yellow laughing at something. Grey and yellow and-_ and nothing. 

**-Healing Unit Failed-**

His head was pounding like a thousand heartbeats. It was as if a war was going on inside of him, but he no longer had the ability to tell from where it was being waged inside of him. The pain was once again flowing in from an unknown source, worse than before. He tried to recall what grey and yellow meant to him. It had to mean something, otherwise he wouldn’t have seen it. Anything beyond the whiteness must be important. Who was grey and yellow? _No one,_ a voice echoed from the recess of his mind.

**-Activating Recovery Beacon-**

That couldn’t be right. He knows this person; cares for them, even. Except he can’t recall the last time he cared for anything. Yet this person was-no, is important and wonderful and worth everything he could give them. Why can’t he remember them? Why can’t he remember the name of grey and yellow? _Grey and yellow were sturdy and comforting colors. They represented safety, warmth. They meant home._

_Grey and yellow and red, lying in the snow. Red and white and grey and yellow._

Who was that? Why did the images hurt so much? When had the grey and yellow been mixed with white and red? There was so much red… So much pain, no longer coming from his head but from his chest. He didn’t remember falling on it - he was lying on his back, in fact - but it felt constricted and crushed nonetheless.

**-Recovery Beacon Failed-**

It was getting harder to breathe. His face felt colder. Was it wet? Were those his tears? Was he crying? There was salty liquid flowing down his face in thin streams, and he didn’t know why. He should know why; there were his tears, after all. _You killed him._

_No. He’s lying, Agent Maine. He’s lying. You know the truth._

_You saw the blood, Maine. You saw it clear as day, and you didn’t care. Washington is dead. This is of no concern to you. After all, you don’t even know who he is, do you?_

**-Critical Damage-**

Sigma. The Meta. That’s all he could remember. Everything in his torn apart memory was about a man covered in red flames. He was out to get the AI fragments. That was his mission. He remembered his mission. Nothing else mattered. _Wash mattered._ No one mattered but Sigma. 

_You loved him._

_You don’t know him._

**-System Failing-**

He couldn’t breathe. He was still crying. Why was he crying? Someone was dead, but who was it? He didn’t know anyone but Sigma. He only had one mission. He needed to complete his mission. He couldn’t move. Everything was white. _Grey and yellow and purple and green and tan and teal and_ white.

**-Critical Damage, System Failing-**

It was cold, that much he was sure of. He was crying, but because of what he wasn’t sure. His head felt like it was splitting into tiny pieces, tiny pieces that still retained feeling and then fought each other as they continued to cause the unbearable pain. He wasn’t sure of why this was happening either. He was dying and he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move, but he had a mission to finish. He needs to become The Meta. He can’t remember anything else. There are symbols floating in his vision, but they’re outlined it white. Everything was white, and it was hard to see.

He’s crying, but he’s confused. He has no reason to cry. He doesn’t feel any sadness, hasn’t in a long time, and he hasn’t lost anything that he needs to be sad about. There are flashes of grey and yellow around him, but he can’t remember what they signify anymore. He feels alone, but hasn’t he always been?

There’s screaming in his mind and he can’t make it stop. He gave up trying long ago. He’s tired and all he wants is to sleep. Everything feels heavy and everything is moving too slowly. He can’t breathe. His eyelids feel like there are weighted slabs of harsh, cold metal keeping them shut closed, and he no longer attempts to get them to open. Everything would just be white, anyway. The screaming seems farther off now. It hurts less. He feels like he may finally be able to sleep. 

**-System Failed-**


End file.
